


Personal

by LeoOtherLands



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday Smut, Drinking, M/M, Melancholy, Pining, Rare Pairings, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/pseuds/LeoOtherLands
Summary: Sai doesn't see why Kakashi should want him, only... Kakashi does.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Sai
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Personal

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is odd. I wrote it nearly a year ago now, and just never typed it for various reasons. But, today has not been well and I just pulled it out and typed it, tying to remember what I had even written and what I was feeling when I did it. I really don't know any of it. But here is a story. Enjoy it if you can.

He smiled at me across the table, making my heart pound in my chest. Maybe it was the amber liquid in my system making everything glow, casting it all in a soft hue, like a black and white film where the starlet’s hair shimmered and her eyes were stars, but oh, he was beautiful. Silver hair, a delightfully charming series of spikes gelled and carefully arranged on his head. Just the subtlest trace of lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. A long trail of scar down one cheek, but otherwise untouched, flawless skin. Dressed in smooth, cream-colored slacks over long legs, a white sweater that caught and clung to every curve, and a satin scarf he wore pulled up just over his nose.

Sakura, Naruto, and Sasuke kept chatting around me in a golden bubble of intoxicated background babble, but I couldn’t take my eyes of Itachi’s friend. Maybe it was all the alcohol my companions had fed me on this, the anniversary of my twenty-first year. Maybe it was the fact I could no longer feel my hands or feet or face, or even my teeth. Or that my heart kept doing strange things, dancing around my chest cavity. Maybe it was all of those things or none of those things, but he looked like a picture. Something to be marveled at, until you captured every detail and burned them all on your memory.

The man was pristine.

Perfect.

Art.

He was so beautiful it made my heart ache and a sadness creep through me on the warm rolls of inebriation. Wistful longing whispered through me, as the night went on and we took a collection of Ubers from bar to bar. Maybe that was why, when I found myself dropped into the backseat of a stranger’s car, alone with him, and a bump in the road had me sliding into him, I found myself dizzy and clinging to him, looking up at him with wide, pitiful, dark eyes, and let out, “I’d very much like to draw you.”

Instead of the blank, uncomfortable and confused expression I’d expected, his eyes crinkled in another smile at me. “Oh?” he asked, hands tightening on me, to hold me closer when we hit another bump, threatening to jostle us apart.

“I’m an artist,” I all but moaned by way of explanation, head lolling on my neck, to thump into the hollow of his shoulder.

“Humm.” He hummed the little, purring noise in his throat and pushed his nose into my hair to whisper, “Well I’d very much like to undress you for your birthday.”

My breath caught, already erratic heart fluttering against my ribs. His fingers on me, clinging in my clothes, took on whole new meaning, his nose breathing in my scent, shampoo, paper, and a healthy dose of ink, became a dream.

“I… think I am drunk. Perhaps I should go home.” I tilted my head back to look up at him again. “Will you… make sure I get back alright?”

Another happy crinkle of those eyes and the trace of a smile under his scarf. “Sure, Sai. I’ll tell Itachi you wanted to sleep. I’m sure he can handle his brother and your friends.”

I watched him take out his phone and tap out the text to Itachi. Then I languidly turned to our driver and gave him the address for our new destination. The rest of our trip consisted of my companion, Kakashi, I thought I remembered Itachi calling him Kakashi, studiously littering kisses up my neck, while his fingers explored me places I hadn’t let myself be touched in years, and our driver kept his eyes locked on the road, doing his best to ignore my pants and gasps.

It was a relief to us all when the Uber pulled up in front of my apartment and I paid the man. It was a relief to feel the night air on my exposed skin and breathe a moment, a relief to show Kakashi into the apartment complex and walk with him beside me. It was less of a relief to be with him in the elevator because he planted his hands to either side of my head, trapped me against the wall, and resumed kissing my neck. Forcing my chin up and eliciting moans out of me, while my hands fisted in the back of his too-soft sweater. He left me dizzy by the time the doors rolled open and I needed to totter my way toward my apartment.

His body beside mine, brushing my side and leg, as his arm snaked around my waist, so he could cup my hip, were all that kept me steady, kept me moving. Even as it turned me despairing again. He was so beautiful and so hungry and I… It was so long since I’d given affection like this I wondered if I still could. If I still felt the passion and desire to satisfy the lovely vision who nibbled my shoulders and throat, while my shaking fingers worked to unlock my door.

He unsettled me, turned my feet to tripping things. My heart feeling as barren and cold as the atmosphere of my apartment when I swung the door inward. With Kakashi in my personal space, I could feel the chill of it like at no other time. The coolness of a place too well kept and rooms too seldom used. Walls bare of smiling photos and instead peopled with abstract artworks in grayscale and monotone. Everything in order, but the canvases and paints, the sketchbooks and inks. My one vice of disorder my art.

Kakashi made no comment on it, until we reached my bedroom, though. Here at last, here only was my home my own. The careful farce of the previous rooms was thrown aside, made lie of by a messy, unmade bed, closet doors left wide, walls a riot of fantastical and intimate designs. Works I never showed anyone, intermixed with half-finished extravagances of color.

My guest paused in the doorway, to take it in, even as I stumbled forward and sat heavily on the bed. Still too full of alcohol to manage on my feet. Yet, my dark eyes watched the vision in white and silver inhabiting the space I called my own. Watched him step over one randomly open sketchbook and stoop to retrieve another from the floor.

“You’re a tattoo artist.” His eyes scanned the walls. “Among other things.”

I slumped over into the mass of my sheets and nodded against the cotton. “I make personalized designs for each of my customers.”

He set aside the sketchbook and crawled unto the bed with me, so he was kneeling over me, his hands pressed into the mattress to either side of my head. “Draw one on me.”

“What?” I groaned, turning over under him, so I was lying on my back and looking up at him with blurred eyes.

“You said you wanted to draw me.”

“You said you wanted to undress me,” I murmured, face flushing.

He chuckled a low, growly sound, fingers curling under my crop top, to pull it up over my head and bare my chest for him to nibble and suck at a nipple.

I moaned, back arching automatically, reflectively, as I squirmed under him. I felt myself harden in a way that left me panting, and I dug my fingers into his shirt again. Wrinkling that too-soft, too-perfect material.

Only… he pulled back. “Draw for me, draw on me, and then I’ll finish unwrapping you.”

That was how I found myself shirtless, with my erection bulging my cotton pants, half reclined on my pillows, while the man knelt above me and I painted a dragon across his bare chest and arm. The thick smell of ink filled my nose and mixed with the alcohol in my veins to set my heart beating off kilter. My hands shook and the brush dropped unnoticed to my white sheets before I was halfway down.

My canvas seemed satisfied, though. He bent to me, opening my mouth with his and smearing the still-set ink on his chest over my pale skin. I groaned when his hand slipped beneath my waistband and palmed my hard on. His fingers made me come apart. He reduced me to a wanton thing, clutching his back and wrapping my legs around his toned backside, once he had my pants off. He had me whimpering with only his cock rubbing on mine and his fingers in my, exploring my warmth.

“Please, oh please,” I gasped into his ear, not even aware of what I was begging for. Only knowing I _wanted_. Wanted from him. My nails scrapped along his skin. “Please, K-kashi…”

He whispered sweet things to me and spread our pre-cum together over our joined cocks, then he filled me up. It made my spine bow to the point my hips left the mattress. He slid his hands beneath my ass and made me whine, while my arms reached over my head and my fingers curled in the pillows. While I begged for more, until he made me scream when I could take no more and fell fully into ecstasy.

My pretty, pristine canvas kissed me all over, his hands sliding up my arms to meet and grasp my hands, intertwining our fingers. We lay like that, just breathing, so long I thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep, but a slight turn of my head had him brushing his lips along my jaw.

“I hope you know I want you to finish drawing me,” he muttered against my throat.

My breath caught. “You… do?”

“Is there a reason you sound so hesitant about that?”

The question had me turning my head away. Only he wouldn’t allow it. His lips found mine in gentleness and I moaned, “No one’s ever wanted more of me.” No one was ever satisfied with me…

“I do,” he said the words mouthing along my shoulder blade. “I want to know you at your most private, in your most intimate times, in your most personal places. I want to undress you and experience all of you.”

Blurrily, I looked up at this most perfect vision of a man. Found myself gazing into his gray eyes. Heart beating a rapid pulse, “I’d very much like to draw you,” whispered past my lips.

**Author's Note:**

> This salty ball of angst and glitter is an original fiction author and fan fiction writer, who literally lives for comments and reader interaction. Even if this is nothing but inarticulate vowel screams, lol. He exist on a flotilla of social media, separated into a wide array writery things.
> 
> If you are crazy enough to want to see what I'm writing on any given day, and maybe try tempting me into writing something specific, feel free to join me in my personal writing Discord [Midway](https://discord.gg/jsQw96p), or friend me on Discord at LeoOtherland#7066 if you would rather chat one on one.
> 
> On Facebook I can be located on my [author page](https://www.facebook.com/LeoOtherland/) for all things original fiction, or in the [AO3 Armada group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/601270063618951) for all things fan fiction.
> 
> On [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RoseOfOtherLand) or [Tumbler](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/leootherlands) I primarily run with the fan fiction crowd and I seldom post and/or tweet anything, but if you want to drop me a line, I am always up for a chat.


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